Playing With Power
by MizJoely
Summary: An alternate ending to the episode Power Play. What if the entities hadn't been dislodged from their human hosts so easily?
1. A Storm With Teeth

**Prologue: Point of Departure**

"If I were you, Picard, I wouldn't pass this way again!" The menacing growl tainted Deanna Troi's lovely voice, the rough-edged words ones that should never have passed through her lips. Then again, the person speaking them was hardly Deanna Troi; it was, instead, an unknown and nameless criminal, whose government had, for reasons as unknown as his name, stripped him from his body and sent his consciousness--and that of his fellow prisoners--whirling angrily into the eternal storms that racked this benighted planet.

Not mad, Picard had said, and he believed that still. Even after five centuries without a body, the being that now possessed Troi was not mad. Ruthless, desperate, filled with hatred and anger. But not mad. The eyes that burned into his were coldly sane; even the fire of his anger was cool, calculating. And now it was gone.

Picard raced forward as the glowing balls of energy that were all the body the prisoners had left deserted Troi, Data and O'Brien. He caught the half-Betazoid counselor's suddenly limp and unconscious body in one arm, mouth open to shout orders to the bridge crew as Worf leapt to activate the transporter.

It was then that the containment field created by Beverly Crusher failed.

Picard looked up in frozen horror, unable to move as the light in the room abruptly returned to normal, and the beings caught helplessly in their incorporeal prison were suddenly, frighteningly, free. His last conscious thought as lightning seemed to explode around and through him was that he had, finally, failed in his sacred trust to keep his people safe.

It was a bitter thought to carry into darkness.

**PART I: IN THE TEETH OF THE STORM**

Narve opened his eyes and looked around the room. He could feel Picard, trapped and helpless in a corner of his own mind, and allowed his mouth to twist into a triumphant smile. "Picard, you're _mine_," he whispered savagely, as savagely as he'd first said the words, when he'd been in Troi's body and merely held Picard hostage. Now, Picard was truly his. Neatly shut away in a corner of his own mind, powerless to stop the invasion. And Narve had a body again, a body he felt more than willing to keep. Being caught in the body of a woman had been interesting, but he felt much happier now that he occupied one of the correct sex. The commander as well, which was only fitting.

He rose to his feet, wiping such irrelevant thoughts from his mind as he assessed the situation. Troi was still unconscious--well, that was to be expected; he'd exited her mind more harshly than necessary, viciously angry at being forced to leave in the first place, using her pain to eject himself rather than simply leaving. It would be some time before any of his men could take her mind...if it were even necessary at all. Another smile curved his lips as he raked her trim, slender body with Picard's eyes, a smile that grew as he felt the captain's outrage at the thoughts and images that rapidly flooded Narve's mind. He pushed those thoughts aside as well--for the moment--and turned with a critical eye toward the others.

They were all occupied now; Verek and Mylal had re-entered the bodies of Data and O'Brien. Peris had occupied the Klingon and was already punching in a security override to the cargo hold doors that would keep Riker from blasting them into space, as Picard had threatened to do. Narve nodded approvingly at this action, then noticed that Mast had entered O'Brien's woman--O'Brien's civilian woman. Picard's face frowned, and his voice rang out. "We need to occupy the bodies of the security forces first. It's safe to assume that they realize their plan has failed; once we leave this room, they'll be waiting for us." He glanced over at the rest of his storm-tossed men, who had moved their essences from the transporter pad and were now waiting near the door. None of them were fools; the second they realized that the oh-so-clever containment field created by Dr. Beverly Crusher in a desperate attempt to control the situation had failed, they acted.

Thoughts of Beverly Crusher brought more of Picard's memories to the surface; with a rapidity that would have astounded the other man, had he been fully able to grasp Narve's thought processes, the images and memories were seized, examined and stored away for future reference. It had been far too long since Narve--or any of his 150 fellow prisoners, all male, all condemned for the same crime, all loyal to him--had been physically able to touch anything, let alone hold a woman in their arms. Now he had two that he had every intention of exploring further, once he had taken this ship.

These thoughts flickered through his consciousness far quicker than it took Peris to finish entering the code that would open--and keep open--the massive doors to the cargo hold. Even while they brought a smile of anticipation to his face, Narve's voice--Picard's voice--barked out orders. "Remember: Security forces first. We're not likely to encounter anyone else right now anyway, so that shouldn't be too difficult to accomplish. They'll have all the civilians and noncombatants locked away for their own safety. Other than that, don't worry about whose body you get; you'll be able to change later, if you want. The bridge is our main goal."

The other four who now had bodies nodded their heads; the 146 still lost in the small portion of the Storm they'd brought with them sang their agreement into his mind. They all knew what to do. Nodding grimly and gesturing with his phaser with one hand while he hoisted Troi over his shoulder with the other, Narve followed as his men left the room.

It was almost too easy. Even though the forces confronting the invaders thought themselves ready, they were woefully unprepared for the savage force of the Storm. The lightning grew weaker as more and more members found bodies and left, but even in this weakened state, it was more than enough to stun the men and women they encountered.

Riker had desperately attempted to block them from the bridge; it was the obvious goal. But Worf's memories and tactical abilities served them well, and it wasn't long before the bridge crew--Riker, Ro, LaForge, all the rest except a stunned Beverly Crusher, now being held tightly by Peris--had been rendered unconscious and taken over. Regaining access to the computers was the next priority; one of Riker's first actions had been to lock the invaders out. A futile gesture; Picard's memories told Narve exactly what to do to counter that move, and he took immense pleasure in doing so in front of Riker's disbelieving eyes--before stunning the first officer into unconsciousness.

As soon as that had been accomplished, the rest of the ship had been gassed by its own internal security system--yet another piece of Federation technology that had proven useless against the invaders--and the remainder of the former prisoners had been sent to round up every man, woman and child, imprisoning them in the cargo bays.

Once the prisoners came around, they would no doubt attempt to escape, and there was always the chance that some smart guy from engineering would come up with a way to get around the locks. _Then again,_ Narve thought as he glanced around the bridge, _that was fairly unlikely, since they now had the smartest guy from engineering right here, with--who? Ah, Lormis._ With Lormis, best computer man in his crew, controlling him and assimilating his memories. His aura was unmistakable, the pale blue glow that identified him as clear to Narve as if his name were written across his host body's forehead. It was the same for all of them. An unexpected--but beneficial--side-effect of their time spent without bodies, discovered during their first, abortive escape attempt.

"Interesting." Riker's voice interrupted Narve's thoughts, sounding slightly bemused as Larsch looked with the former first officer's eyes around the bridge. Larsch had been forced to stay behind when the pain from Riker's broken arm kept him from being able to take over that body, and he'd claimed it for himself, with no one disputing his right to do so. But now his attention was focused on the three women on the bridge. "This Riker guy's slept with that one"--he pointed at Ro, whose occupier, Mesch, merely raised an eyebrow--"and that one. He slept with that one a _lot_." His gaze lingered on Deanna Troi for a moment before passing over to Beverly Crusher. "He even slept with that one, but he had some sort of parasite in him that was in love with her or something--" he shook his head, half in amazement, half in disgust. "This guy gets around!"

Larsch was the youngest of them, Narve remembered, suppressing a flash of annoyance at his preoccupation with the women--and conveniently forgetting his own thoughts about them. It had been so long since such minor matters as age, rank or even sex had truly meant anything. Well, not quite. Rank still mattered, even after five long, hopeless centuries. Narve remained the leader, had coordinated their first escape effort and this current, more successful attempt. He, Narve, had kept his crew from completely losing hope. Now that he had finally managed to free them from their prison, their respect for his leadership would be even higher. But he had to keep discipline. Larsch wouldn't be the only one thinking with his new hormones. There would be time enough for his crew to sample the women once they were safely away and had disposed of the extraneous people.

"We can't keep all the prisoners on board this ship," he announced, putting thoughts to words. "We can't control them all. Suggestions?"

"Kill them," Verek said flatly. His golden eyes glittered in the subdued red lighting that now draped the bridge, flickering oddly in the silent flashing of the emergency alarms.

Narve looked over at his second-in-command consideringly; his suggestion was a quick, easy solution that would satisfy many of the men. Especially the one who suggested it. Verek reveled in death and killing; only Narve's orders had kept him from killing the Klingon or Picard earlier. He would need to vent his frustrations, but killing helpless prisoners wasn't part of the Code. Verek occasionally needed to be reminded of the fact that the Code could not be ignored. Sidestepped, on occasion; at times interpreted a little more freely. But never ignored. Besides, it always paid to try and plan for as many contingencies as possible. If by some quirk of fate they were ever caught by the Federation, they had on their side the fact that no lives had been lost. Wholesale slaughter of the prisoners would make any punishment far harsher.

"Use the navigation systems," Lormis interjected in his flat, emotionless tones. "Find some uninhabited planet where we can dump the ones we can't use. We start slaughtering them, the Feds will be out for blood if they ever catch us." Narve nodded his approval; it was the plan he had come up with, as well. But it always looked better if he took the suggestions of the crew; that was also part of the Code, however unwritten.

"You can't get away with this!" Narve/Picard swung around in surprise, fixing his gaze on the speaker. Beverly Crusher. Of course. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow and gestured for her to continue, jerking his head at Peris. The Klingon hands released the woman, and she stumbled slightly at the unexpected freedom before snapping erect and turning her glare on her former captain. "This is a Federation Starship! Do you honestly think you can try to steal it without someone stopping you?" She spread her arms angrily, taking in both the invaders and the entire situation in which she now found herself embroiled.

Narve shrugged expressively, silently reveling in the ability to do so. "We've already gotten away with it, Doctor," he replied in Picard's cultured accents. "And we will continue to do so. Between our abilities and the memories of Picard and his crew, we should be able to fake a most convincing 'accident'; remember, even your sophisticated sensors couldn't find the crash site of the _Essex_."

He smiled as her eyes widened at this revelation. "Then we'll take all civilians and useless personnel and dump them on some primitive planet far away from the shipping lanes and outside Federation territory--maybe someplace just inside Romulan space, how would that be?--and we'll leave them there. Someplace where they'll be too busy surviving to try and create communicators out of rocks and trees," he added in mocking tones as he glanced around at his crew. "If anyone does eventually stumble across them, we'll be long gone and nowhere to be found."

He shrugged once again, then leaned casually against the railing, his eyes back on the doctor's strained--but still beautiful--face. It would do no harm to tell her..."Don't get the idea that somehow one of your people will try and pass for one of us. We can still 'see' each other, despite these bodies." He pointed at Worf, busy at tactical. "That's Peris." The Klingon looked up briefly at the mention of his name, grunted, and returned his attention to the board. "He has a distinctive green aura." His hand waved at Keiko, standing guard by the turbolift, the phaser held so steadily in her hand clearly set on "kill". "That's Mast. He's an assassin; his aura is a purplish-red. Blood-colored, you might say." He smiled.

Crusher felt an almost overwhelming urge to slap that cold, calculating smile off his--Jean-Luc's--face. She squelched it mercilessly; such thoughts could serve no purpose. She had to keep her head, even though her nerves were screaming at her to run away as quickly as she could. But there was nowhere to run. Not now, anyway.

She studied the stranger in Picard's form once more. She could see no sign of the auras he'd described, but had no doubt that they existed; she could probably even rig a tricorder to look for them, now that she knew they were there, now that _he'd_ told her about them..."Who are you?" she demanded, suddenly determined to know his name. She refused to think of the man standing before her as Picard any longer.

"My name is Asrun Narve," he replied, clicking his heels together and bowing with a mocking gesture. "At your service...Beverly."

She felt a gasp of outrage escape her lips at his use of her first name in so familiar a fashion, not to mention the caressing tone with which he said it. _How dare he--!_ The outrage was gone as quickly as it came. A man who would ruthlessly take over another man's body and mind would hardly stop at something as trivial as over-familiarity. She almost felt embarrassed by her reaction, while her professional side clinically noted that concentrating on trivialities helped keep the mind from being overwhelmed by the larger picture. The larger, less-than-appetizing picture.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a voice over the communications system. "Narve? This is Nal. We've secured the prisoners. What now?" The voice--it sounded like Ensign Perry from Security, but Crusher wasn't sure--waited expectantly.

"Now you select the bodies you want," Narve replied. He turned away from the doctor, apparently dismissing her from his mind. "Pick technical staff, people who can run this ship. It can be done with a crew of 150, or even less; Picard's memories tell me this. Oh, one piece of advice," he added. "Pick male bodies. Being inside Troi was interesting, but there are better ways for a man to occupy a woman." Raucous laughter burst out, both from the bridge crew and over the intercom.

Crusher felt as if she were going to be sick. Surely there was something she could do--! She'd never felt so helpless before, so vulnerable, even when she'd been kidnapped and held hostage, even when she'd been trapped in that warp bubble, horribly alone. But not so alone as she was now, surrounded by enemies in her own home.

The activities of the invaders over the next few hours went by in a blur, with only a few events standing out. The spectacular "accident" that Narve had promised. The invader inside Ro--Mesch, Narve called him--abandoning the ensign for Lt. Reg Barclay, the engineer's usually cheerful face transforming into a cold mask before Crusher's horrified eyes. Keiko falling to the floor unconscious soon after, when a security guard was offered to her occupier instead.

Narve flatly forbade her to check on either woman, just as he had refused to allow her to check on Troi. All she could do was watch their unconscious forms anxiously, unable to force the issue because Peris had produced a pair of binders and secured her hands behind her back, then forced her to sit on the deck next to tactical. It was humiliating.

The worst of it, she thought dimly, was the way not only she but the other women on the bridge were being treated. O'Brien--Mylal, she'd heard him called, a name ironically similar to the transporter chief's own first name--had demanded that Narve allow him to "keep" Keiko for his own. Narve had smiled that same, cold smile and nodded indifferently. "She's yours; I do try and keep my promises, you know." His eyes ranged over the rest of the men on the bridge. "We'll keep some of the other women, never fear," he'd added carelessly, but his eyes had lingered on Crusher's face and she'd felt herself flushing with anger and embarrassment. This sort of thing just didn't happen on a Federation starship, to Starfleet personnel!

At that thought, her eyes went involuntarily to the captain's ready room. Troi had been taken there on Narve's order, still unconscious, while the one in Data's body, Verek, efficiently removed anything that could be used as a weapon and disabled the computer console. Narve's eyes on the ship's counselor had been almost as unsettling as his eyes on her own body, and Crusher found herself wondering uneasily just what this...pirate...had in mind for the two of them. Not that her unwilling imagination couldn't conjure up a grim image or two, but she decided she'd better not think about it. She would either laugh or cry, and hysteria would not help the situation.

She concentrated instead on being grateful that no one tried to argue with Narve's decision to send the majority of the crew and their families planetside. Although Verek's eyes flashed dangerously when his suggestion to kill them was turned down, he appeared satisfied to go along with his commander. She allowed herself to wonder, briefly, how Jean-Luc was feeling, trapped within his own mind. He was still there, she had no doubts about that; Narve had said so and had taken immense satisfaction in describing to her the flashes of emotion he could feel from Picard's outraged--and helpless--consciousness.

And, of course, there was the evidence of her own eyes; as Keiko finally came to and huddled against the wall near Crusher, her strained face and terrified eyes bore silent witness to the fact that Miles O'Brien's wife was perfectly aware of what was going on, her mind obviously undamaged in spite of everything that had happened. But the other woman was even more powerless than Crusher to stop the nightmare, even though she hadn't been secured the way the doctor had. She didn't even have the rudimentary martial arts training that Crusher had received as part of her Starfleet education; she was a botanist, for God's sake! A civilian botanist. Who had been promised to a stranger that was occupying her husband's body. _Who gives this woman away..._

The doctor shuddered at the way her thoughts kept turning on her. She concentrated instead on what could have gone wrong with her containment field, what she now knew about the invaders, anything that might distract her from a growing sense of panic. Anything. The mysterious "Code" Narve kept referring to. The apparent ease with which they--especially Narve, or perhaps, she realized suddenly, _only_ Narve--submerged their true personalities under the false ones they'd presented while pretending to be the crewmembers they'd taken over, personalities that, bit by bit, seemed to emerge while they were pretending to be "ghosts" of the _Essex_ command crew. Their immunity to the intruder containment gases, to phaser fire--surely in that mass of data she'd accumulated there had to be something she could use against them! She kept her mind grimly glued to those thoughts until exhaustion finally overtook her--she'd been on duty since well before the initial discovery of the distress beacon--and she sank into a rested, haunted sleep.

_Author's Note: Here is another story dug out of my archives, such as they are. This story was written a long time ago but in our own galaxy, and published in not one but two, count 'em, two fan publications, the second of which (she pointed out modestly) was a digest-sized zine devoted exclusively to this story and its sequel. Not published by me, by the way. Anyway, horn-tooting aside, I hope you enjoy this alternate view of the NG episode "Power Play" and if enough people like it, I'll dig out the sequel, "Power Struggle" as well. Enjoy!_


	2. Getting to Know You

**oOo**

Crusher came to with a start. Her legs had fallen asleep, her wrists were rubbed raw from the unpadded metal bands holding them, and her hands were going numb. She pulled her legs out from under her, flexing her fingers and toes, and stretched with a slight grimace, trying to ease the pain. Was that what had awakened her?

No. The ship was moving, travelling with its usual smooth hum through warp space. How long had she been asleep? She glanced over at Keiko. The other woman had also fallen into an exhausted sleep, huddled against the engineering console in a defensive ball, and the doctor found herself marveling at the body's ability to cope. Tense and strung out as she'd been, she hadn't thought sleep was possible, not in such a hostile situation. But sleep she had, and Keiko as well. Ro Laren? The ensign was nowhere to be seen; perhaps she was locked in with Troi, perhaps she'd been put with the rest of the prisoners. It was impossible for Crusher to say; the other woman had disappeared sometime during the doctor's unexpected nap.

She still wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but it felt as if it had been at least a couple of hours. The emergency lighting was still on; apparently Narve didn't care how the bridge was lit, as long as he was in command. A wave of bitter anger passed over Crusher as she glared at the back of his head.

He was sitting in Picard's chair. Of course. Data was next to him, with O'Brien on the other side. No. Not Data and O'Brien; Verek and Mylal. She'd have to remember that, to start thinking of them by those names. Peris of the distinctive green aura, in Worf's body, was standing at tactical next to her, while the one called Larsch occupied Riker's body, sitting incongruously at navigation.

"This is the place!" Riker's voice rang out cheerily as Larsch spun around to face Narve. "No intelligent life, not too many large carnivores--just enough to make things interesting--temperate climate, large land masses, drinkable water and edible food. Paradise!" He sounded obscenely cheerful to Crusher's ears. "Wonder why it hasn't been colonized before?"

"Because," Verek said in the calmest voice Crusher had heard him use yet; perhaps being in Data's emotionless body was affecting him. "It's in disputed space." He grinned evilly, and any resemblance to Data disappeared. "Disputed with the Romulans." His eyes sought hers, and he smiled again as he continued, "So we have to get those people down and ourselves out of here before we're detected by one side or the other and someone comes asking our business." He looked over at Narve. "Right?"

Narve nodded in agreement. "Right." He paused, then raised his voice to address the intership. "Mast!"

_"Mast here,"_ came the prompt response.

"Mylal's on his way down; we're ready to dump them." The callousness of that statement brought Crusher to her feet; she leaned heavily against the rail as she glared down at Verek and Narve. Especially Narve.

"You can't just send us down there with nothing!" she protested hotly. "At least allow my medical teams to bring down their equipment and supplies!"

Narve turned to face her as Mylal rose to his feet and headed for the turbolift. "We've let them take food, clothing, and a few supplies; we're not barbarians, after all." His voice, oozing with false sympathy, turned hard. "But no technology, Doctor. And no you. You're staying on as my...guest." He turned away again, ignoring her continued protests, protests that were only cut off when he waved an irritated hand over his shoulder and Peris lashed out and backhanded her viciously across the cheek.

She collapsed to her knees from the force of the blow, blinking away tears of pain. Keiko was also awake, but when she made a tentative move towards the doctor, Peris growled at her menacingly and she backed away again, cowed.

It was a mere two hours later when Mylal returned, pausing briefly by the turbolift before entering the bridge. Verek was pacing restlessly; none of the others had moved the entire time Mylal had been away. Except for Narve. He'd gone into Picard's ready room once and re-emerged a few minutes later, grinning. "The Counselor is awake," he announced, turning his face to reveal a bleeding scratch on one cheek. "Or rather, she _was_. I felt she needed a little more sleep." He rubbed his hand suggestively, and Data/Verek burst into laughter.

Mylal's eyes lingered on Keiko for a moment, but he wrenched his gaze away and walked down the ramp to take the seat usually occupied by Will Riker. They were all showing some self-control now, Crusher thought through a haze of pain; her cheek still stung from the force of the blow. They weren't as desperate as they'd been when they first took over. The further they'd gotten from their former prison, the more relaxed they became. It was as if they were afraid the storm would reach up into space and suck them back down to the planet's surface. Or maybe that was too poetic an image; maybe they were just more confident the longer they got away with this...madness.

"They're all down now. Everyone except us and the women," Mylal reported to Narve.

The commander nodded, satisfaction clearly written on his features as he rose and stretched. "Good. Now get us out of here." This order was directed to Larsch. "Top speed to neutral territory, as far away as you can manage in a couple of hours. Then stop. If it looks safe, I'll let the men celebrate." He smiled, a genuine smile this time that chilled Crusher's blood more than the artificial ones he'd bestowed upon her earlier. "They've certainly earned it; we all have." His gaze returned to O'Brien. "How many did we keep?"

"Fifty, not including these and Ro Laren."

"Ah, yes. Ro. Where is she?" He glanced around in the semi-darkness, seeming to notice it for the first time. "Put the damn lights back on," he snapped, before repeating his question. "Where's Ro?"

"In my quarters," Verek replied as the normal lighting suddenly sprang back on. Crusher blinked painfully at the brightness. "You said Mylal, Larsch and I could have our pick, so I picked her."

Narve eyed the android now occupied by his second-in-command doubtfully. "Maybe you should've taken a Human body."

"Don't worry about that, Commander; this body is fully functional. And I _do_ mean fully," Verek added with a smirk.

Narve looked at him with a touch of envy. "I think I picked the wrong body."

Verek merely shrugged, still smirking. "We can always switch, if you like. But I'm getting rather attached to this body; it doesn't need sleep or food, but it can still appreciate a woman. And it will, too." He looked around at his fellow pirates. "All of our bodies will, eh?"

_No mistaking that meaning,_ Crusher thought with a sinking heart. No mistaking that or the looks O'Brien's invader was casting on Keiko...or the looks Narve was giving her. She was almost too worn out at this point to really care--almost. There was still enough of the analytical researcher in her to wonder, if the women occupied as much of the invaders' thoughts as they seemed to, how the men had managed to control themselves this far. Impressive discipline, if nothing else. She turned her face away as these thoughts flitted through her mind, avoiding Keiko's panic-stricken face as well. She finally accepted that there was nothing she could do. For now. She closed her eyes so Keiko couldn't see the defeat in them as Larsch asked Narve for Troi.

"When I'm finished with her," was the curt reply. "She's the example." There was a momentary pause after those cryptic--and chilling--words while he apparently waited for a protest which never came, then: "Tell the crew the women are for when we've reached goal; after that we'll work out a schedule so everyone gets a turn. Same as before; they know the drill." His eyes caught those of Mylal. "Where did you put them?"

"Ten-Forward," was the reply. "With Mast in charge. So there won't be any discipline problems."

"Good. Verek, take the doctor to my quarters and then take some time to recuperate; android body or no, you've been pushing yourself a lot." Verek nodded curtly, allowing himself only the barest of anticipatory grins as the commander turned to speak to O'Brien.

"Mylal, I want you to stay here while Verek and I are 'occupied'." He forestalled the objection Mylal was about to voice with a raised finger. "Anticipation makes the meal taste sweeter," he said. "Have a little patience. You'll get her soon enough, and I need someone in charge that I can trust to keep things running smoothly while Verek and I are...indisposed. Besides," he added, a touch of steel entering his voice, "you showed a little less control over your host's mind than I expected from you."

"You can't blame me for that, Commander," Mylal protested, his eyes flickering briefly toward Keiko before returning to Narve. "It's not like we've had a lot of practice at this--"

"I didn't ask for excuses," Narve shot back. "You know how to use your host's memories; you're not supposed to let them use you. And that's just what happened back in Ten-Forward. You got lost in O'Brien's memories. So I want you to stay on the Bridge for now, and practice your control. Got it?"

Mylal's nod of acknowledgement was grudging, but he made no other protests as Narve turned to face Peris. "I want you in Ten-Forward, helping Mast. He knows his duty, but I want someone else down there I can trust not to lose control. Send Nal to engineering to help Mesch; he's reliable, but he always had problems keeping his mind on work when there were women around. Larsch, you stay here, too. Time to practice your patience as well; when I'm done in there, she's yours."

Crusher refused to open her eyes as she heard footsteps heading toward the captain's ready room--and Deanna Troi. _There's nothing you can do to help her, Crusher_, she reminded herself wearily. _Besides, this is all your fault. It was your damn field that failed._

That depressing thought chased itself around and around her mind as Peris pulled her none-too-gently to her feet. "Come on, you," he growled, pushing her towards Verek, tossing the restraints at the android. "Narve, it's not fair that Larsch gets his own," he complained as Verek grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. "He didn't come up."

"He was supposed to and he tried to. That's the Code," Narve replied flatly. He was standing in the doorway to the ready room now, obviously intending to enter as soon as he was done snapping out orders. "It's not his fault the body was defective at the time. Don't worry; you'll get your turn soon enough. Do your job, do it well, and you and Mast will get first pick." Peris' reply, if any, was lost as the turbolift doors shut on the bridge.

Crusher sagged against the far wall. Verek had released her arm and was studying her unpleasantly. She tried to ignore him as he sent the turbolift to the deck containing the officer's quarters, tried not to think about their destination, Jean-Luc Picard's cabin in particular. The fact that the captain was still in his body and would be aware of what was happening, completely unable to do anything about it--as Narve had made quite clear--made things even worse. She couldn't begin to imagine how the captain must feel right now--or how he would feel when Narve made good on his threats against herself and Deanna Troi. Just the attempt made her feel sick.

"Query: what are you thinking, Doctor?" Her head snapped up at that familiar tone; had Data somehow managed--?

No, Data had not somehow managed. Her head drooped again at the knowing smirk pasted on Data's mouth. Verek's smirk. _I hope being in Data's body drains your emotions out of you like pus from a wound, you sadistic bastard_, she thought viciously, but only her eyes betrayed her anger. After glaring at him for a moment, she hung her head again and lowered her lashes. Let him think that was as much defiance as she could muster.

Fortunately for her nerves, they arrived on the proper deck at that point. Verek took her arm again, pushing her ahead of him and down the corridor, stopping in front of the door to her own quarters. Holding her by one arm, Verek marched her over to her closet, rifled through her clothing, then removed a light olive dress and tossed it over his shoulder before pushing her out of the room and continuing down the hall.

To Picard's quarters.

Crusher's steps slowed reluctantly as they neared the door, and Verek pushed her forward so she stumbled through the entrance. The captain's quarters looked as they always had, the automatic lighting dimly set for "evening", which at least gave her an idea of how much time had passed since they'd first gone to investigate the distress signal. The wall chrono told her even more; had it really only been 24 hours? Twenty-four hours of hell.

Even more hell, she suddenly realized, for Keiko. Molly. Little Molly must have been beamed down, along with the rest of the crew and their families. And Alexander. _Thank God Wes isn't here_, she found herself thinking gratefully, her heart going out to the other parents still on board. Thank God he was safe and sound, back at Starfleet Academy. She wondered if Keiko felt the same relief that her daughter was at least away from all this, surrounded by friends and people who would keep her safe, or simple grief at being separated from her baby. Probably, Crusher decided, a bit of both.

Verek was beside her again; she hadn't even heard him follow her into the room. He dangled the binders in one hand and thrust the dress at her with the other. "You will clean yourself and change into this." It was a dress she hadn't been able to bring herself to wear in a long time. The dress she'd worn one night when Jean-Luc had invited her to his cabin for dinner. They'd danced, and kissed. Then, with no sign of regret or any other emotion, he'd sent her away. Of course it hadn't really been him, any more than it was really him now, up on the bridge, doing who-knew-what to Deanna Troi. She couldn't help it; a shudder passed over her frame as she reluctantly reached for the dress. She wouldn't put it past Verek to force her into the shower and then into the dress, wouldn't put it past him to forcibly remove her uniform to accomplish either goal. "He didn't require that Deanna be 'cleaned up' first," she couldn't help muttering.

Verek shrugged indifferently. "That was business, Doctor; this I can assure you is pleasure. Troi is merely the example; _you_ are the one he selected." His voice hardened. "Get moving, Doctor. I'm not a very patient man, as you might have noticed."

He watched as she moved like a sleepwalker across the cabin and into the bathroom, idly tossing the binders from hand to hand. "Leave the door open," he called to her. "I could easily break it down if I had to, so don't get any bright ideas about locking yourself in." The threat made, he settled comfortably onto the sofa, his eyes never leaving her figure. She nodded obediently, draped the dress on the edge of the small counter, and turned on the water. Sonics, she decided, wouldn't do it. Not tonight. Her spirit felt as grubby as her body.

The hot water brought her somewhat out of the apathetic daze into which she'd fallen. Just because she couldn't think of any way out of this mess, didn't mean that such a way didn't exist. She would have to bide her time. Hopefully she'd be allowed contact with her fellow captives; surely they'd let her take care of them, as medical officer. She didn't know if the invaders had taken over any of the medical staff, but somehow she doubted it. If any of _them_ needed help, they could force her to do it. Or just knock her out and allow one of their own members to enter her body and do whatever needed to be done himself, with the unwilling help of her own mind and memories.

She shuddered at the thought of having her mind invaded in the same way the men's had been. The physical violation she faced now was somehow less frightening than the idea of having her own mind used against her. But for now, she reminded herself grimly, only her body was in peril. No use borrowing trouble.

The shower door jerked open, nearly causing the doctor to bang her head on the wall in surprise. It was Verek, of course. Glaring at her. "You've taken long enough, Doctor," he said, the glare turning into an appreciative leer. "Dry yourself off and get out." She obediently turned off the water, deliberately ignoring his eyes on her naked body. Let him look, as long as he didn't touch. She pressed the button that turned water to dry heat, wrung out her hair and finger-combed it to dryness. Verek never moved, leaning casually against the edge of the shower, a greedy expression on his face as she dried herself.

He continued to watch as she slipped the dress over her head and straightened out her hair--bless Picard for having a comb!--then turned to present Verek with an inscrutable face. "Well?"

The alien in android's clothing nodded with alacrity. "Very well, indeed, Doctor!" He jerked his head towards the door to the rest of the suite. "Narve will approve as much as I do. Now march."

Very briefly, Crusher considered trying to escape. He held no phaser now. As quickly as the idea flashed through her mind, she dismissed it. Data's body could recapture her very efficiently; although he seldom displayed his astounding speed and reflexes, they still existed. At Verek's disposal. He had no need of a phaser; he could stop her before she even started to move.

And he certainly wouldn't give her the chance to shut down Data's body. With Data's memories, he knew that she was one of the few people who knew precisely where to press. He was watching her like a hawk, and not just because he had what her mother would call "dishonorable intentions". He was waiting for her to try something. Anything. Therefore, she wouldn't. Not now, not with him. Let him think she was still in shock, let him think she was beaten. It could only work to her advantage.

Verek pulled her along by one arm, stopping next to the closet. "I'm afraid you're in for a little more discomfort, Doctor," he said with false sympathy as he glanced down at her wrists, bruised and raw from being confined for so long within the metal binders. "Sorry about this, but I can't have you escaping while Narve finishes with the lovely Counselor." He held up the binders and looked over to gauge her reaction to both the security devices and his dig about Troi. Since there was nothing she could do at the moment about either, Crusher said nothing, but she was sure her face betrayed at least the fear she was feeling, if not the anger she was carefully keeping in check.

He clicked the binders over her unresisting wrists, hooking them over the rod in the closet first. She still said nothing, merely stifled a groan at the thought of having her arms held in such an awkward position for any length of time. "I have no intention of waiting here with you while the intriguing Ensign Ro Laren awaits me in my quarters," Verek added conversationally.

Crusher felt her heart leap at his words. He was going to leave her alone! Although she was deeply disturbed by the thought of what was going to happen to Laren--what was undoubtedly already happening to Dee--she resolutely pushed such thoughts aside, this time not out of despair, but out of an urgent need to clear her head. Time alone meant time to plan, possibly time to escape. She made herself look as hopeless and defeated as she could, lowering her eyes as if in meek submission. Data's voice laughed at her, Data's hand lingered caressingly on her hair and back for an agonizingly long minute, then he was gone. She was finally alone.

It was time to put her Starfleet training to work.

_Author's Note: Hey, time to let me know if you like this story or not, pretty please?_


	3. Secret Weapon

**oOo**

In a small chamber behind the bar in Ten-Forward, a silent figure waited. So far the women had been left alone, with only two men to guard them. An eye peered through the narrow slit between the wall and the door, focusing thoughtfully on Dr. Selar, standing regally in one corner. She was the only woman not chattering in a nervous undertone to a neighbor.

The watching eye blinked, then narrowed with determination. Selar was the best candidate; although the Vulcan doctor was not a strong telepath, she was more reachable than any of the mindblind Humans surrounding her.

The figure drew a deep breath as it edged closer to the sliver of light offered by the partially open door of the storage closet. It was taking an immense amount of concentration to keep Ten-Forward's occupants from noticing--or remembering--the presence of the small room and its entrance. Now, it was time to remind Selar of its existence--and let her know there was someone behind that door.

It was a dangerous game, but at the moment it was all Guinan could think of. She'd been off-duty when the original hostages had been taken, one of the few times she could remember her intuition and sense of danger failing her so completely. When the hostages had been freed and the original set of invaders were safely on their way to the cargo bay, she'd returned to her domain, to assess the damage.

The alert status had been specifically intended to confine all civilians and non-essential personnel to their quarters, but Guinan had bullied her way past Worf's second-in-command, arguing that the best place for her was in Ten-Forward. She'd given Perry no good reason, but he'd complied anyway. _He_ knew her reputation, and besides, he didn't have time to argue with her.

Because, as quickly as things seemed to be under control, all hell broke loose. Guinan, her intuition screaming at her now as if to make up for failing her in the initial crisis, had ducked into the small storage room. And waited there.

This time, her intuition was right. She concentrated on keeping all eyes off her and her small island of security as former friends suddenly became enemies whose faces were lit as if from within by a strange, wavering glow.

She'd continued to hide while the ship moved and women were hustled into the room, under the guard of Perry once again. Or at least, Perry's body. Whoever controlled that body now, it was not the earnest young ensign. His eyes now held a fiery light that seemed to be equal parts enjoyment and hatred. He was reveling in this situation, in the fear and confusion his presence and the presence of his companions was causing among their captives.

His back was to her now; Nal, that was his name. He'd identified himself when Picard's voice had asked for a status check over the intercom system mere moments ago. Nal/Perry had called Picard "Narve," and had reported the downloading of the remainder of the crew onto some planet Guinan had never heard of, but whose name she duly noted and filed in the back of her mind for future reference. Fifty women were now in the lounge, all of them members of the crew; no civilians. All of them young, healthy, attractive. They reminded Guinan of nothing so much as a harem, and she didn't need her intuition to tell her how correct that assessment was.

Fifty women here, plus an unknown--but small--quantity of others elsewhere on the ship. Officer's private stock, were Nal's exact words. He'd been joined by another security officer, Ensign Amato, whom he now called Mast. The two of them had ripped the communicator badges from the women's chests, Nal gleefully, Mast emotionlessly, and piled them on the bar. Then Mast had taken his phaser and just as emotionlessly turned it up to "kill" as he melted the communicators into nothingness.

That finished, he turned his back to the bar and joined Nal, his eyes coldly pinned to the uneasy mass of women while his fingers automatically returned the phaser to its previous setting of heavy stun. His companion was complaining, in the manner of common soldiers everywhere, about the privileges given to the upper ranks, and making crude remarks about their captive audience. Mast merely continued to watch the women, silent and suspicious, nodding abstract acknowledgement of his companion's words, but not really listening.

Guinan ignored them for now, concentrating instead on Dr. Selar. The unknown other captives were a wild card factor, beyond her control and reach right at the moment. Slowly, painfully, she divided her attention between keeping other eyes away from her and willing the Vulcan woman to look, to see the door, and to draw the correct conclusions. Selar's telepathy might be slightly below average for a Vulcan, but her intelligence--and her logic--certainly were not. The question was, would their combined abilities be enough to accomplish anything?

Just as she was about to fully engage the doctor's attention, Guinan stopped. Intuition again, and once again standing her in good stead. The doors whooshed open, and Worf strode into the room. He was grinning cheerfully, or at least as cheerfully as the Klingon face could manage. He greeted the other two men--they called him Peris--and glanced around the room curiously.

His eyes fixed on Selar, and Guinan felt a moment of despair as the Vulcan's attention shifted to the Klingon. "Narve sent me to help out," he said. The voice was somewhat petulant, an incongruous tone for the imposing Klingon. He spoke to Mast, but his eyes remained glued to Selar. "He wants Nal to go to engineering."

"Hey!" Nal protested, but was overruled. It was obvious to Guinan that he had no desire to leave the women. From what she'd overheard, it had been long centuries since any of the invaders had owned bodies, and just as long since they'd been able to touch a woman. Apparently Narve thought Worf's occupier more trustworthy than the former Ensign Perry. Sulking, Nal left.

"The commander says we have first pick," Worf said conversationally.

Mast merely grunted. Worf did not seem to be overly concerned at this lack of response. "I think I want the Vulcan. The Klingon wants her," he added, his voice louder than normal. For the benefit of the listening women, of course. They knew as well as Guinan what they were being held for--Nal's lewd comments told them that much--but probably hadn't wanted to admit it. Now it was staring them in the face. One or two broke down and began crying, but for the most part, Starfleet training and discipline--and the courage that had allowed them to become members of Starfleet in the first place--held. Selar merely raised an elegant eyebrow, then deliberately turned her back and faced the view port directly opposite the bar.

Worf continued speaking, apparently satisfied with the reaction he'd gotten from Selar, slight though it was. His eyes never left the Vulcan doctor's back. "She reminds him of his Klingon woman. His dead Klingon woman. But he doesn't know that, not consciously." He tapped the side of his head, still grinning like an idiot. "I know it, though." He chuckled gleefully. "We can get to parts of their minds they don't even know about, and there isn't anything they can do to stop us. That should help us when we get to pick out our own women, eh?" Without waiting for a response, he continued chattering. "Commander's already picked out his woman and stashed her away in his cabin. It's that red-haired doctor--"

"Peris, you talk too much," came Mast's soft reply. Worf--Peris--glared at Mast from beneath imposing Klingon eyelids, but said nothing. It was obvious that he was afraid of the smaller man.

Guinan slid noiselessly away from the door. It was impossible for her to try anything now; Selar was as close to emotional turmoil as she ever got. She needed time to calm herself. Guinan knew she couldn't touch the other woman's mind while it was in this state, and settled herself as comfortably as possible, going over the scant information Peris and Nal had revealed. She had a feeling she was in for a long wait.


	4. Good Example

_Warning - this scene contains references to a rape. Nothing graphic, but things are about to become even worse for Our Heroines._

**oOo**

Deanna Troi groaned softly as she finally regained consciousness--again. She tried not to move for the first moments of awareness; her body was in enough pain already, without her adding fuel to the fire. She felt as if her face had been slammed into a bulkhead. Which, of course, it had. And as if she had received a terrific shock to her entire nervous system. Which, she remembered as she finally rolled over from her stomach to her back, was exactly what had happened. First a shock on the planet surface, then invasion by the alien consciousness. Then another shock as that same consciousness left her, digging viciously into her mind as he did so, sending her into an even deeper unconsciousness bordering on coma.

Then, of course, the same alien--he "felt" the same--had come back, this time in Captain Picard's body. She'd attempted to escape the minute the doors opened, and had gotten in one good blow before he slammed her face into the bulkhead and she lost consciousness yet again. Concussion, she decided dizzily, was very likely.

She opened a cautious eye, this time suppressing a groan as the light seemed to stab into her very brain. She dug her elbows into the floor, raising herself slightly, trying to ignore the shattering pain that small movement caused as she continued to lever herself into a sitting position. Once that had been achieved, she closed her eyes again and leaned heavily against the wall. Her head was still throbbing, making thinking difficult.

After a minute, the pain ebbed and she tentatively reached out with her mind, trying to sense whoever waited beyond the walls of the captain's ready room.

Triumph and excitement, dizzying in their intensity, were the first emotions she sensed. They almost overwhelmed her in her weakened state, but the counselor held onto her control, delicately picking her way through the mental fireworks, trying to sense if there were anything a little less...exuberant.

_Fear_. It stabbed into her mind suddenly; most--but not all of it--radiating further away than the bridge. More than one person, terrified but defiant. One island of cool calmness in the farther group, so pure it could only be Vulcan in origin. Dr. Selar, at least, was still alive.

She assessed those sensations only briefly as the more overpowering emotions, the triumph and excitement, liberally mixed with drunken elation and the darker emotions of hatred and lust, threatened once again to overwhelm her.

Troi pulled her senses back to herself, shaking with the effort. So many conflicting emotions, but easily categorized to separate the two parties now on board the _Enterprise_: captors and captives. But far fewer in number than she'd expected; Troi felt a thrill of fear stab through her as she wondered where the rest of the people were. Surely they hadn't all been slaughtered--! But no. The prisoners were outraged, frightened, angry and defiant, but they weren't filled with the kind of numbed shock and grief she'd come to associate with large-scale loss of life. A minor blessing, that; she deduced that they must have been put off the ship, onto some planet or other.

If that were the case, it could be construed as a good sign. Although the alien who had occupied her mind obviously wasn't averse to using violence to achieve his goals, he hadn't slaughtered the crew and families of the _Enterprise_. Now, if there were only some way she could use that element of mercy to her advantage...

Someone was coming. She felt emotions directed toward herself, and instinctively shrank away from their intensity, although the person was still outside the door. Then a twin burst of fear from more than one nearby source that almost overwhelmed the arrogance and contempt she felt from just outside the door. Apparently Captain Picard--and he was still there, she was sure of it, boxed in and helpless the way she had been at the beginning--and his incorporeal "guest" were coming to pay her another visit.

Troi knew one thing: she had no intention of facing her captor crouched against the far wall like a frightened animal. Slowly, painfully, she rose to her feet, head held high. It would take only one good breath to knock her over, she realized wryly, but she would make a good showing for herself for as long as possible. He would not find her cowed.

The door slid open. Troi tensed, feeling her already rapid heartbeat almost double itself. But her face remained serene, slightly aloof. The massive bruise she knew to be decorating a large portion of her features did nothing to alter the image she projected as Captain Picard stepped into the room.

Narve smiled as he regarded Deanna Troi. She was still defiant; it was obvious to him that her will alone kept her on her feet. Head held proudly, only slightly leaning against the wall to betray her true weakness, she was a sight to behold.

_Or,_ he thought with a touch of humor as he allowed the door to shut--and lock--behind him, _a sight to be held, as Larsch would say._ He deliberately opened his thoughts to Picard. _What do you think about that?_ he silently asked his unwilling host, his thoughts ringing with mockery. It amused him to taunt the helpless captive, and he ignored Picard's demands for release, relishing the horror and outrage emanating from the small corner of his own mind into which the captain had been shoved. But enough of that; back to the business at hand.

Narve and Troi faced each other from across the room, neither one speaking or moving, for a long instant. Then Narve broke the spell, walking casually, and yet with the arrogance Troi sensed as part of his basic make-up, to rest one hip against the captain's desk.

Troi decided to take the initiative. "Who are you?" she asked quietly.

Narve smiled at the repeat of Beverly Crusher's question and answered the counselor in a similar, mocking manner. "I am Asrun Narve. A former political prisoner. You are Deanna Troi. Former Ship's Counselor." He glanced down at his body. "This is the former body of Captain Jean-Luc Picard." He looked around the room with an exaggerated air. "And this is the former Starship _Enterprise_, new name not yet decided upon. Any further questions?"

His sarcastic tone infuriated Troi, but she kept herself calm, using the Betazoid meditations she'd learned as a child. They helped. Barely, but it was better than nothing. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, still in the same quiet tone. "This isn't necessary, surely you must realize that. We might have been able to help you, if you'd only asked us." Futile; she could tell by the look in his eyes, even if his emotions hadn't already given him away.

He slipped off the edge of the desk and walked deliberately over to her; she tried not to flinch, but only partially succeeded. His hand reached out and gently outlined the bruise that covered half her cheek and one eye. "Poor Deanna," Picard's voice whispered with mocking tenderness. "Did I do that to you?"

Troi's eyes widened at the emotions she now sensed from him, and she shook her head in mute protest at what she knew was, inevitably, going to happen to her in the captain's ready room. "No," she breathed, then desperately sought to put his attention elsewhere. "There's no way you'll get away with hijacking an entire starship," she said, her words coming a rush in spite of her attempts to slow them down. "If necessary, Starfleet will order this ship destroyed, rather than allow it to remain in your possession. By doing this, you are making the Federation your enemy. It still isn't too late; you can end it peacefully."

He smiled throughout her entire speech, his eyes never leaving hers, and when she paused for breath, his hand moved from her cheek to gently cover her mouth. Narve shook his head almost regretfully as he said, "Don't try to counsel me, Counselor. I'm not Jean-Luc Picard. I am Asrun Narve, Commander of the League of Uxmal Pirates. I take what I want, the way I always have." The smile deepened and hardened at the same time. "Right now, what I want happens to be you. Perhaps you should follow that interesting Earth adage about this sort of situation: relax and enjoy it."

Knowing it would be useless to resist him, surrounded by his men and with no one capable of coming to her aid, unable to fight due to her weakened condition, Troi still tried to push him away as he crowded her against the wall and replaced his hand with his lips. The hand moved suddenly to her throat, cutting off her breath and making her head throb even more painfully. "I wouldn't take this personally," Narve whispered as he pulled her away from the support of the wall, "but the other women need to realize exactly why we kept them. When I send you to join them, they'll see you and understand how useless any kind of resistance, any show of defiance, would be. And they'll know their place."

His voice had turned conversational, and the dichotomy between his words and his tone was the most frightening thing about the situation. He was about to rape her, and he felt no true passion or even anger about it; to him, it was a necessity. He would enjoy it, she could sense that much, but his overwhelming priority was to establish to herself and the other captives the extent of their helplessness. Otherwise, she sensed, he would never have taken the time away from the escape effort his crew was still engaged in. It was a demonstration of power, pure and simple.

With these thoughts spinning through her mind, Troi's last attempt at defiance was completely unconscious. The mental scream of _"Imzadi!"_ burst unbidden from her mind as Narve pushed her to the floor.

**oOo**

"_Imzadi!"_ Larsch jumped to his feet, startled, as the voice burst into his head. Riker's memory recognized the word, recognized the voice, and Riker's body had already started moving toward the ready room when Lormis' voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Where do think you're going, Larsch?" Lormis' voice was cold and impersonal, the way the computer expert's voice had always been. Even when it was merely a voice in the mind. "Did you just think of something extremely important you had to tell the Commander?" A note of sarcasm entered his voice, but only a note. Lormis had too much self-control to allow his emotions to show any more than that.

Larsch turned, reluctant to tell the other man what had just happened. "No." He returned to his seat and dropped into it heavily. "I just thought I...heard something." It sounded lame, even to his own ears, and he winced inwardly while he waited for Lormis to question him further.

Apparently the other man was satisfied with that answer, or at least satisfied enough not to question Larsch further. For now. But Larsch had no doubt that Lormis would tell Narve about the incident. And if Narve asked, he would have to explain what happened, however reluctantly. Or rather, explain what Riker's memories said must have happened. For now, he tried to concentrate on the navigation board beneath his hands. _No,_ he corrected himself, _not my hands. Riker's hands._ He stared down at them as a sudden feeling of disconnection threatened to overwhelm him.

_Your hands, now,_ he reminded himself in an attempt to steady his reeling senses. _Riker may still be in there, but he isn't in control any more. He never will be again._

He concentrated on that comforting thought, attempting to distract himself from the disturbing and familiar voice that had burst, panic-stricken, into his thoughts for one brief, agonizing moment. _Imzadi_. He started to shudder, then stopped himself just in time. Lormis would be watching him now, from behind the strange VISOR device that hid LaForge's eyes and Lormis' emotions even more effectively than the computer man's own impassive features had. He wouldn't hesitate to report any lapses in control to the commander--lapses, Larsch thought with a burst of irrational resentment, that Lormis would never allow himself to have. Lapses the others were bound to suffer, not having Narve or Lormis' rigid self-control, or Verek's complete lack of regard for anyone's feelings but his own--or even Mast's coldblooded ability to focus on his chosen profession.

No, they were the definite minority in the crew, the few who control their hosts' emotions as easily as they did their own. But it didn't matter to them how well the others could or couldn't handle their own hosts. All Larsch knew was that he didn't want to have to suffer through the sort of dressing-down Mylal just had--Mylal, who was still glowering angrily from his seat in the center chair, staring steadily at the viewscreen, not allowing his eyes to so much as stray toward tactical or Keiko O'Brien. Larsch knew, and he knew that Mylal knew, why she was still on the Bridge. It was a test, nothing more, nothing less. A test of Mylal's will and ability to control his host. Larsch could see the struggle in the Third's eyes; even his own brief burst of aberrant behavior had failed to gain his attention for more than a moment. A moment that passed as soon as Lormis spoke.

It didn't help that Riker was constantly, ceaselessly testing the bounds of his mental prison, or that he kept up a steady, deliberately malicious stream of invective, a scathing running commentary that Larsch couldn't quite manage to cut off. If he had followed Riker's instincts and gone to the Ready Room, he wasn't sure what would have happened--or who might have emerged the victor had Riker chosen that moment to attempt to seize control of his body once again. Especially if it was already doing something Riker wanted it to do.

Now was not the time to worry about it, Larsch decided. Nor was it the time to speculate if Narve was testing him as well, with his decision to use Troi as the example. He turned his attention to the navigation board beneath his hands, this time successfully fighting the sense of dislocation and the panic it brought.

Riker could rant and rave all he wanted; all Larsch had to do was ignore him, concentrate on closing the box the first officer had been locked into. It would become easier to do so over time, Narve had assured them all of that. Then they would be able to choose when they wanted to "listen" to their captive host's minds, be able to show more discrimination in which memories they chose to display and use.

Larsch just hoped it would happen soon.


	5. Escape Plans

**PART II: SEEKING SHELTER**

It didn't take as long for Selar to compose herself as Guinan had feared. She felt the doctor's calm control return after only a few minutes--not as clearly as Troi would have, but clearly enough for the bartender's purposes. She slipped closer to the entrance once more, mentally reviewing her tentative plans. She'd revised them when she heard that Beverly Crusher was still on board, although locked up, apparently, in Captain Picard's quarters, awaiting the "mercy" of the pirates now holding them captive.

Crusher was in the Captain's cabin. That was important, and could be used to advantage. If anyone could do something to turn the tables on the invaders, it was the ship's CMO. So now Guinan needed to reach Selar. To create a distraction, because it was harder to direct eyes away from a moving figure--and an opening and closing pneumatic door. To somehow keep the men occupied so that Guinan could slip away.

It was a longshot, but her intuition--still behaving contritely, although she hadn't decided whether or not to forgive it just yet--told her it was the right thing to do.

And now was the time to do it. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

Contact! Selar's eyes widened momentarily, then returned to their calm perusal of space as seen from Ten-Forward's main view port. She blinked thoughtfully, turning the mental touch over in her mind, considering all the possibilities.

It could be a trick. It was logical to assume that the entities now occupying the bodies of her fellow crewmates had been able to communicate while they were without bodies. Which meant that they had some sort of telepathic abilities. However, they had not demonstrated such abilities since she had seen them, which led to the hypothesis that those abilities were limited in scope--that they could not use them while in the bodies they currently occupied.

Or, she thought, they were only able to use such abilities--if any--internally now, to access the memories of their host bodies. And perhaps to control the minds of the original occupants? She refused to speculate further on that line; there was no empirical evidence to back up a conclusion that the minds and spirits of the bodies' true owners were still whole.

Which, she reminded herself firmly, was completely beside the point at this moment. She was attempting to ascertain the veracity of the mental voice which had so briefly and urgently whispered to her to turn and look at a door behind the bar that she had somehow forgotten was actually there, then provide a distraction for the guards.

Her first instinct, she silently admitted, had been to obey. Training had immediately taken over, reminding her to consider all possibilities before committing herself to any actions. The fact that her captors had no need to trap her in such a clumsy fashion combined with the fact that they had--thus far--shown no extrasensory abilities, as well as the fact that the voice was, upon further reflection, unmistakably that of Guinan, led her to discard that option.

Once again, Selar decided, speculation was useless. Turning as casually as she could--the women had not been forbidden to move, and some were pacing nervously or drifting from frightened clump of women to frightened clump of women--she wandered closer to the bar, studiously ignoring the men at the farther end, then seated herself next to Nurse Alyssa Ogawa.

Feeling the eyes of the two guards upon her, she proceeded to ask the young Japanese nurse about her health and led her into a medical discussion. Satisfied that she was merely attempting to distract a colleague from the situation at hand, the guards' attention shifted elsewhere, and she drew a silent breath of relief--especially when Worf's eyes finally left her, although she would never admit such a fact--before casually moving her own eyes along the back wall of the bar.

She continued to hold a low-voiced conference with Alyssa the entire time; the nurse never even noticed that her superior's attention was split, since hers was as well, although for a different reason. She also never noticed the brief, tight smile that Selar inadvertently let slip as she spied the door--and Guinan's face before it ducked smoothly back into the darkness of the small room. Nor did she notice when Selar's desultory conversation stopped, as she had long since ceased to respond, too sunk in her own gloomy thoughts for mere politeness.

That was fine with Selar; Nurse Ogawa needn't speak, as long as she continued to sit there, partially hiding the Vulcan doctor from view as she contemplated a way in which to carry out Guinan's request.

She never considered not doing so; she had enough respect for the other woman--especially now, when it was quite obvious that the guards had never seen her and were not now seeing either her or her hiding place--to do what she asked without hesitation, once Selar had determined that it was, indeed, she who had made the request. The only question now was, how to do it?

The logical answer was distasteful, but, she decided in the split second it took for her to formulate the plan, necessary. A sufficient distraction was needed to keep the attention of both men away from the door; very well. A small, carefully manipulated riot should do it. Selar had already ascertained that the phasers the two men carried were set on heavy stun, not kill, which made her plan risky but not truly dangerous. Apparently their captors had not gone to that much trouble to separate this disparate collection of women--a cross-section of technical specialists ranging from engineering crew and medical staff, to navigation and communications specialists--only to shoot them down in cold blood. She was gambling on their value, but it was the best chance Guinan had to escape from this room.

Selar turned back to Ogawa, deliberately catching the other woman's attention. She was obviously frightened, but equally obviously determined to control that fright. Selar regretted what she was about to do, but did it anyway. She spoke to the nurse for a moment, then moved away to join another group.

It was beautifully executed. Ogawa was the first to raise her voice in a shout of barely controlled panic, the first to demand her release in a voice shrill with hysteria. Then another woman started, and another, until the two guards suddenly faced an entire room full of panic-stricken, hysterical females.

The one called Mast, who had once been Ensign Amato, suspected it was a cover for something; it was obvious in his eyes and his attitude. Selar had anticipated that, and gave him the target he was looking for. She darted suddenly past the mass of her fellow captives, apparently intent on using the chaos as a cover to try and escape. Mast and Peris were forced to split their attention between her and the crowd that was edging nearer, demanding release. It was an unnerving situation, and Peris was the first to act, spraying reckless phaser bursts into the crowd of approaching women.

Mast kept his head, as Selar had expected, and moved directly for her as several of the captives were thrown into abrupt unconsciousness by phasers set on heavy stun. His slightly compressed lips were the only indication of the anger he must be feeling. Selar allowed her own lip to curl in a feral snarl as she headed directly toward him, not trying to hide her intentions; if she got her hands on him, she would throttle him and make good her escape.

Mast read her as clearly as she read him, and gave her no time to act on her intentions. He raised his phaser and fired directly at the charging Vulcan. In the split second before the beam hit, she caught a glimpse of the doors opening and closing over his shoulder, the small noise they made more than covered by the chaos around her. She allowed herself another tiny, congratulatory smile as she was blasted into unconsciousness.

**oOo**

It had only been a few minutes since Verek had left; Crusher could clearly see the wall chrono from her uncomfortable position in the captain's closet. But it felt longer, as she formulated and discarded half a hundred desperate escape plans and turned her wrists bloody with her attempts to extricate herself from the binders.

_Useless_, was her first, disgusted thought as she finally gave up. The binders were meant to hold; although they stopped short of bonding on a molecular level with the wearer, they came damn close as they adapted themselves to the size of the wrists they were wrapped around. All she'd done was make them shrink a little, so that her hands were almost completely numb.

"Real good, Crusher," she mumbled to herself. "Even when Narve lets you out of these stupid things--which he might not do--your hands are now completely useless." She leaned her head against her arms, defeated for the moment.

"If your hands are useless, perhaps it's time to try using a different part of your body: your brain," a familiar--and unexpected--voice came from behind her. Crusher's head snapped up and twisted painfully on her neck as she whirled to gape disbelievingly at the woman who stepped out of the dim shadows of the captain's cabin.

"Guinan?" Crusher asked, eyes blinking at what must surely be a vision of some kind.

The vision nodded, then moved closer. It was definitely Guinan, Crusher realized as her dazed senses started functioning once again. "How did you get here?" she asked, her voice lowered in an instinctive whisper.

Guinan shrugged. "That's not important right now," she said, her voice also pitched low. "What _is_ important is getting you out of here." She glanced around the closet. "Getting us _all_ out of here," she added, then produced a thin electronic probe from one voluminous sleeve. She prodded delicately at the lock on the binders, then gave a grunt of satisfaction at the small "click" which indicated they had been opened.

Crusher collapsed against the bartender, who led her to one of the chairs facing the sofa in the main room. She lowered the doctor to the seat, and swiftly bound up her raw, bleeding wrists in strips torn from her skirt hem with a deft but delicate hand.

Crusher rubbed her hands together when this was done, trying not to wince at the painful sensation of pins and needles that indicated returning circulation. "Thank you," she said gratefully, then looked over her shoulder. "But do you think it's safe to stay here?"

Guinan nodded. "For now." Her voice was grim. "But not for long. We need to get to Sickbay, get access to a computer and get working on a plan to get rid of our unwelcome guests. Auxiliary Control or the Battle Bridge would probably be better, but they're occupied." She stood up once more. "Can you walk?"

Crusher looked around. "To get out of here? I think I could fly," she admitted, managing a wry grin that Guinan answered with a brief smile of her own. "But are you sure you want me to help?" The wryness turned bitter. "I already failed once; my containment field didn't work."

The other woman grasped Crusher gently but firmly by the elbow and steered her toward the door. "So you try again," she replied, her voice as firm as her grip. "You see why you failed, and you fix it. Or you come up with another alternative. Or _we_ come up with another alternative," she corrected herself. She stopped short of the entrance, head cocked as if listening. Apparently satisfied, she opened the door and ducked out of the captain's quarters. Crusher followed, and the two women raced down the corridor.

The doctor stopped at the turbolift, but Guinan waved her impatiently on, going instead to the nearest Jeffries Tube. Crusher glanced doubtfully at her swollen hands, still tingling from the painful return of full circulation, then nodded her assent to Guinan. She was right; using the turbolift might call unwanted attention to themselves. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Crusher followed Guinan and began to climb.


	6. Temporary Sanctuary

They reached Sickbay without meeting any of the intruders, for which the doctor sent a heartfelt prayer of gratitude Heavenward. And, double miracle, it was empty. Her surmises about the pirates appeared to be correct, and Guinan confirmed them when Crusher explained her reasoning in uneasy whispers.

"They took over no medical personnel; they only kept Dr. Selar and a few of your female nurses, and the women they kept are strictly for their own personal use," Guinan explained distastefully. Crusher nodded her understanding, her mind shying away once again from Deanna Troi. They could best help her and the other prisoners by staying calm and working toward a solution. "There are about 150 of them," Guinan continued as she and Crusher entered the CMO's private office. "And about 55 of us. What do you know about them?"

"That they're immune to phaser blast, at least heavy stun, but pain can knock them out of their hosts. And that the intruder containment system didn't appear to have any effect on them," Crusher replied. "The EM radiation containment field held them, at least for a short while." The doctor stared helplessly at her console before looking back up at Guinan with an expression of intense frustration. "I don't know how to work this so they don't find out! For all I know, they have everything set up on a silent alarm, or it could be locked against _any_ use; the minute I try anything, they could come after us."

As if on cue, the door to Sickbay slid open. Crusher looked up with a start, then relaxed--only slightly--as Ro Laren appeared. The Bajoran ensign looked around the dimly lit Sickbay, caught sight of the two women in Beverly Crusher's office and headed directly towards them. "Dr. Crusher!" she exclaimed as she entered the small room. "Guinan! How did you get away?"

_She_ had somehow managed to hold onto her uniform, Crusher noted with a flash of suspicious resentment, then bit her lip in embarrassment at having such a thought. Guinan had already told her only the men were currently being used as hosts, and she knew very well that Ro had been "given" to Data. Besides, there were easier ways to recapture the two of them without resorting to this kind of subterfuge.

"Let's just say I have a few tricks up my sleeve," was Guinan's evasive response. "What about you? How did _you_ get away?"

The Bajoran shrugged, looking guiltily at Crusher from beneath her lashes before responding to Guinan's question. "I know how to shut Data off," she finally answered, half-defiantly, half-reluctantly. "Please don't ask me how I know."

"I don't care if you found out by seducing a Romulan spy," Crusher snapped back. "Right now, we need to concentrate on getting ourselves out of this mess." She glanced at the other two in turn, waiting until they both nodded their agreement before turning back to her computer. "Ensign, do you know if the consoles are being monitored, or if they've been disabled?"

Ro shook her head. "No. They're too confident of themselves; they haven't taken any security precautions, not even that fancy forcefield they put on Ten-Forward." She snorted disdainfully. "They have their people stretched pretty thin all over the ship: seven or eight on the bridge, two or three at weapons control, a few on the Battle Bridge and Auxiliary Control, quite a few in engineering, and two guards in Ten-Forward for the rest of the captives. The rest are scattered all over the ship, at Life Support and in the Computer Core area and a few other places. Inspecting their new home or something." She hesitated, frowning in concentration. "Plus there are two other prisoners not being kept with the rest."

"Keiko O'Brien and Deanna Troi," Crusher agreed, impressed by the extent of the Bajoran ensign's knowledge. "How did you find all of this out?"

"Data," Ro replied simply. "Or Verek. Whoever he is. He was more than happy to boast to what he thought was a captive audience. So I let him talk until he got tired of it and made a move for me. Then I turned him off--literally. His little ball of light didn't float out, so it's unconscious too. Or at least trapped," she added, radiating grim satisfaction. "It should be a while before he's missed, since he was off-duty, but I don't know how long we have."

"Probably not as long before I'm missed," Crusher replied. "Narve was quite explicit as to his plans for me--after he 'finished' with Deanna." She turned uncomfortable eyes back to the console. "I'd better get started trying to figure out what went wrong with that damned containment field. Right now, it's all we've got. Laren, you have to come up with some way to jolt them out of their bodies, while I work on this. Guinan--" the flood of orders stopped as Crusher looked uncertainly at the alien bartender.

"Guinan will stand guard," she finished for the doctor. "And Guinan will make sure that anyone looking in on us won't see us." She looked over at the communicator badge Ensign Ro still wore. "Better get rid of that; they destroyed the ones the rest of the prisoners had," she advised, then left the small office to wait by the main doors to Sickbay.

"She wasn't one of the prisoners," the ensign remarked quietly to the doctor as she removed her badge and handed it to Crusher before moving to the auxiliary control board. "Definitely not their type. How did she manage to keep from getting thrown off the ship with everyone else?"

"Probably the same way she intends to keep them from seeing us if they look in," Crusher replied, taking the communicator--thankful now that hers was still attached to her uniform in Picard's quarters--and dropping it down the disposal chute. "We'd better get to work."

**oOo**

Only a short amount of time had passed when a violent shudder rocked the ship and the red alert claxons began ringing. "That felt like a photon torpedo blast!" Ro exclaimed. "We must be under attack!"

"By who? Why?" Crusher asked, then shook her head impatiently. "Well, whoever it is, they just gained us a little more time. With any luck, our unwelcome guests will be too busy with this fight to worry about us."

Ro frowned. "Unless Narve starts looking for Verek."

Another shuddering blow; Crusher clutched the edge of her desk to steady herself. "Frankly, I don't think they'll have time. This distraction may be just what we need. I'm almost there..." She turned her attention back to the computer screen.

"If it doesn't get us all killed," Ro muttered before turning back to her own screen.


	7. Under Fire

**oOo**

"What the hell was that?" Picard's voice roared at the bridge crew as Narve staggered from the captain's ready room under the force of another photon torpedo blast. Red alert claxons were sounding stridently and the emergency lighting had come back on.

"Unidentified ship firing on us!" Larsch shouted, his eyes still focused on the screen. Riker's body and Riker's memories knew what to do, and Larsch could feel Riker's concern for the safety of the ship overpowering his own instincts to fight the invasion of his thoughts. For once, both men were working together; Riker's fingers flew as Larsch activated the shields and brought the ship into closer view.

"Identify it, dammit!" Narve roared as he ran over to stand next to Larsch. "Did they try to communicate first?"

"No," came the quick reply.

"Then blow them out of space," Narve snarled. He whirled to face Tactical and Mesch, his man there. "Find out who they are, then destroy them," he ordered, his voice hoarse with anger. "They attacked without identifying or challenging, so the Code doesn't apply."

"They're locals," Mesch reported after a tense moment. He'd finally gotten the schematics to come up; being in combat in a strange ship and a strange body had rattled him for a moment, but he was adjusting. "Call themselves the Maturi. Strictly small league. They're too arrogant to join the Federation, and too backward to do much but yap at their borders. No match for this ship."

Narve nodded. "Good. Send them a message; tell them the League of Uxmal Pirates sends them to their Final Sleep."

Mesch nodded, baring his teeth in a feral smile that completely transformed Reg Barclay's innocuous, perpetually anxious features into a cruel mask. "Message sent, Commander. They demand to know what we're talking about. They say they recognize us as a Federation ship, and tell us to get the hell out of their territory."

Narve smiled, a slow, chilling curl of the lips with no humor in it. "Fire. And Mesch, destroy them slowly."

**oOo **

The alarms finally stopped blaring and the lighting returned to normal. No more blasts rocked the ship; apparently, whoever had attacked had been taken care of, one way or another. Crusher frowned at the screen before her in abstract concentration, too intent on her work to worry now about who had attacked and why, too busy to even worry about what had happened to the other ship at the end of the attack. She had discovered the reason for her first field's collapse. It was too close to the high end of the spectrum; bring it down a little lower--there! "That should hold them," she said with satisfaction. "The only problem we have now is how to get them out of their bodies."

Ro turned around at the doctor's words. "I think I've got that under control," she announced, waving a computer disk triumphantly in the air. "It's a variation on what we tried before, tied in with shipwide communications and the transporter system, now that it's been freed up. _They_ still have their communicators; all we need to do is home in on anyone wearing one, shock them out of their bodies, and let them get caught in your field. Once they're all trapped, the transporter takes over and we beam the bastards into space."

Crusher started to object to the ensign's coldblooded attitude, then stopped. Why not? They'd done nothing to recommend leniency, and it would probably be safer if they were dissolved into space, rather than kept on board in a field that she was afraid might collapse once again.

It was a tempting thought; too tempting. Crusher shook her head. "No," she said flatly. She saw the objection in Ro's eyes and spoke before the ensign could: "I said no and I meant it. We will transport them back to their prison, then we will rescue the rest of our people. We will slap a quarantine on that sector of space, and we will work on getting our lives back to normal. As the ranking officer, I am making this an order, Ensign; is that clear?"

She held Ro's gaze until the rebellion she saw there subsided and the young Bajoran nodded sullenly. "There will be no 'accidents' with the transporter, either," the CMO continued in the same steely voice. "They are to be beamed into space if and only if the containment field fails." She paused, then added painfully, "Again. Since I've done this one in even more haste than the first one, there's always that possibility. In that event, I expect you to do what needs to be done, to keep them from regaining control of this ship. Is that understood?"

"Quite clearly, Commander," Ro replied, her formal tone not quite hiding an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. Crusher nodded in reply, then took a deep breath and turned back to her controls. She wouldn't have to worry about Ro disobeying orders, not now. But she pitied the invaders if her field failed; they would find themselves dispersed into open space in a heartbeat.

All except one. "Damn," Crusher whispered softly. She'd forgotten about Data. "Ensign, have Guinan come back here. We've overlooked something."

Ro looked puzzled, but she called Guinan over softly. They both turned to face the doctor enquiringly.

"Guinan, I'm not sure if this will work on Data while he's deactivated," Crusher said hesitantly when the three of them were together again.

Guinan nodded in immediate understanding. "You need someone to revive him, and since you two will be otherwise occupied, I'm elected."

Crusher nodded and smiled apologetically. "That's about it. Can you do it? I realize there's some danger involved, but I honestly can't see any other way to manage it. We can't leave that pirate in Data's body." She plunged on. "I'll contact you directly, through Data's communicator. When I do, you reactivate him and get the hell out of the way."

"Just show me where to press," Guinan said firmly. "And make sure you get him out of there as quickly as possible; I have the feeling Verek won't be terribly happy to see me."

"That's for sure," Ro muttered in agreement. She moved over to her control panel while the doctor explained, quickly and succinctly, "where to press." When Crusher finished, Guinan looked at the two of them, smiled encouragingly, and left.

**oOo **

Guinan slipped into Data's quarters like a wraith, unobserved by anyone. She slowly let her breath out as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, then glanced around the room, looking for the android.

He was slumped over on the bed he kept mainly for the sake of fitting in a little better with his Human companions, his eyes lifeless, his body as motionless as death. Guinan repressed a shudder at the sight; it was positively ghoulish, as if she were actually looking at a corpse. She looked around the spacious room once again to regain her equilibrium--Data's cat was nowhere in sight, poor thing--then deliberately walked over to the bed and pushed Data over on his side to better reach his communicator. "Guinan to Crusher," she said softly.

"Crusher here," came the doctor's tense voice.

"Ready when you are. I'll reactivate him at your signal. Guinan out." She pulled the communicator badge off and rolled him over on his stomach, placing the badge on his shoulder.

"Confirmed," the doctor replied tersely. The communicator was silent once again.

Guinan moved into position, one hand hovering over Data's lower back, the other supporting her lightly against the bed, her body tensely coiled to jump away from him at the slightest sign of movement. She licked her lips nervously, waiting for the signal that would either end this madness, or bring the wrath of the invaders down on them all.


	8. Say Goodnight, Gracie

**oOo**

It was over. Narve sat back casually in the captain's chair, eyes half closed as he viewed the wreckage. The _Enterprise_ certainly had impressive armaments; he toyed with the idea of going on to attack the hapless cruiser's home planet, then discarded it. Too high profile, at least for now. Besides, the men were still too unstable, the idea of their freedom and their working knowledge of this vessel too new to them to risk taking the _Enterprise_ into real combat. Even though the skirmish had helped them vent five centuries worth of frustrations, they still weren't ready for large-scale combat. "Get us away from here," he said. "This time, Larsch, try to hit neutral territory without any belligerent locals, will you?" His tone was casually insulting, and Larsch turned to glare at his commander.

"You said two hours, neutral territory. That's what this space is," he protested sulkily.

"You could have looked for something unoccupied," Narve pointed out. A smattering of laughter broke out at that, but quickly died as the commander glared around the bridge. "Do I have to tell you everything?"

"Get off my back," Larsch muttered, lowering his eyes and turning back to his console. "Are you done with my woman yet?" he asked abruptly, ignoring Riker's furious cursing. The man had not stopped since he realized what was happening to Troi, and Larsch had gone past amazement at his vocabulary into irritation that he showed no signs of stopping the flow of invective, even when Larsch managed to shut him off for a few, blessed minutes of silence. Each time he lost that tiny bit of control, however, Riker was there, still cursing, not even seeming to notice the interruption. It was beyond irritating; it was infuriating. Perhaps it was this irritation with Riker that did it; whatever the reason, Larsch snapped at Narve without stopping to think about what he was saying--always a mistake. Especially where the commander was concerned.

Narve arched a sardonic eyebrow. "A bit possessive, aren't we? After this bit of idiocy, I'm not sure you deserve your own."

Larsch spun around once more, anger clouding Riker's features. "You can't do that!" he protested hotly.

"Watch me!" Narve snarled in return. "_I'm_ the Commander here; you've been following me for over five centuries. Are you challenging me now? After all," he added mockingly, "it's in the Code."

Larsch looked around uncertainly at his crewmates. Their faces were closed, impassive, but he knew they'd back Narve over him. He was junior to almost the entire crew, and Narve had gotten them out of prison, into bodies and onto this ship. He didn't have a chance. He lowered his eyes again. "No, Commander," he finally answered, disgusted with himself for backing down. "It must be the hormones; this guy's full of 'em. It's been a long time since I had any." He tried to ignore the mocking laughter ringing through his head, but couldn't; Riker's amusement as his expense was even worse than the man's cursing.

More laughter outside of his head, this time comradely. Narve joined in, nodding his appreciation--and understanding. Larsch wouldn't challenge him, not now. But he'd have to watch that young man in the future--the possibly endless future, since they could transfer from one body to another if necessary--watch him very carefully. Verek should be told to keep an eye on him; Verek, who was content being Second, content with the position and power he wielded without having to deal with the responsibilities of being Commander, and who would never challenge.

Narve frowned, then looked around the bridge. Verek should have been there by now; even if he couldn't make it to the bridge during the battle, he should have come afterwards. No matter what he was doing, or who he was doing it with. "Computer," Narve raised his voice to address the ship's communications, "where is Ver--Data? Where is Commander Data?"

"Commander Data is in his quarters," the flat, emotionless voice replied.

A sense of uneasiness began growing in Narve. This was definitely out of character for Verek, who loved a good battle more than any of them. "Computer," Narve said, urgency coloring his voice, "what's he doing there?"

Before the computer could answer, there was a powerful jolt of energy all over the ship. _No!_ he tried to scream, hearing Picard's shout of triumph as intense pain forced him and his crew from their stolen bodies. Defeat tasted as bitter to him as it had to the _Enterprise's_ captain.

**oOo**

"Now, Guinan!"

The doctor's voice came from the communicator, and Guinan didn't waste a second. She touched Data in the precise spot Crusher had shown her, then jumped back.

Data remained motionless. Guinan frowned and cautiously craned her head forward for a closer look.

Not cautiously enough. Data's hand shot out and wrapped around her throat as he rolled rapidly over to sit up on the edge of the bed. "Who the hell are you?" Verek snarled, looking wildly around the room. He shook her impatiently. "Where's Ro Laren?"

Guinan choked and pulled ineffectually at his hand, trying to pry his fingers from around her throat. He shook her again, then arched his back in shock as the energy blast finally struck him. His hand tightened on her throat reflexively, then loosened as the glowing ball of energy that made up his essence flew out of the android's chest. The containment field came on a fraction of a second later, and Guinan felt herself relax as the transporters pulled Verek away from her.

"Guinan?" She looked over at the hand that she'd pulled away from her throat, then followed the arm to the shoulder, and from there up to Data's puzzled face. "What has happened?"

Guinan managed a smile as she pulled herself to her feet, coughing a little as she sat next to Data on the bed. "It's a long story, Commander," she said wearily. "But it's one that's going to have to wait a while. There are a lot of people who need our help right now."

**oOo **

"They're out!" Ro reported tersely. Crusher nodded, fingers flying as she activated her modified containment field.

"Got you," she muttered under her breath. "Now to transport them down to the cargo bay..." This was the most delicate part of the operation; if even one escaped, the entire plan could fail.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Ro looked up from her monitor. "They're all down there," she said, smiling slightly. "What next, 'Captain' Crusher?"

Crusher took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. "Now we get back to that planet, dump them, and retrieve our people."

Before the other woman could do more than nod in agreement, a voice came over the intercom. "Dr. Selar to Guinan; can you hear me?"

Crusher smiled at the welcome sound of her second's voice. "Selar? This is Dr. Crusher. What's your status?"

"It would appear that the invaders have all been expelled and the crewmen they occupied rendered unconscious," the cool Vulcan voice replied. "Our nurses are examining them now."

"Good," Crusher replied, undisguised relief in her voice. "Have the rest of the crew take their posts; we're on a tight schedule. As soon as the prisoners have been returned to their planet, we need to rescue the rest of our people. The coordinates should be in the navigation log."

"Understood, Doctor. Selar out." The intercom went dead as Crusher turned to Ensign Ro.

"You'd better get to the bridge," Crusher advised Ro. "I'll stay here and monitor the containment field; you can access the transporters more easily from there, if you have to. Just let me know when we arrive."

Ro nodded, spun on her heel and left, just as Guinan reentered Sickbay. The older woman walked over and leaned casually against the doorframe as she looked at Crusher. "Data's on the bridge; it didn't take him long to recover." She peered closely at the doctor, taking in her weary eyes and tense posture. "Well," she said, her tone deliberately light, "you've had a taste of command now, Doctor; what do you think?"

Crusher shook her head and smiled wryly as she allowed herself to relax a little in her chair. "I think I'll leave it to the people who were trained for it," she replied, then frowned as other worries finally caught up with her conscious mind. "Guinan, Keiko O'Brien and Deanna Troi are still on the bridge, as far as I know. Would you--"

"Take care of them?" Guinan nodded. "If they need medical attention, I'll send for Selar." Then she was gone as well, and Crusher was alone.

_Author's Note: I'm hoping everyone is enjoying this, even if they're being VERY QUIET about it? (Hint, hint)_


	9. Aftermath

**PART III: AFTERMATH**

"This has been the longest week of my life," Beverly Crusher announced to no one in particular. Which was just as well, since there was currently no one in her glass-walled office to announce things to. She leaned back in her chair and stretched, then, reluctantly, returned her attention to her desk.

"Chief Medical Officer's Log continued," she dictated tiredly. "It has been a week since our ship and crew were invaded by the beings calling themselves the League of Uxmal Pirates, who have been returned to their prison planet. Everyone has been restored to full health, and there are no long-term physical problems being experienced by anyone. As for mental problems..." She allowed her voice to trail off as she considered her next words. The computer waited patiently; if she didn't speak for a full thirty seconds, it would beep a gentle reminder to her. If she still didn't speak after a full minute, it would shut itself off.

But Beverly Crusher wasn't one to make anyone wait, even a computer. She continued after only a few seconds had passed, "As for mental problems, I do not feel fully qualified to make those evaluations, but since our Ship's Counselor is currently among the incapacitated, I am doing the best that I can. I have already recommended that the entire crew be granted at least a month's leave, and Starfleet has agreed--on a rotating schedule leaving not less than one-quarter of the crew on board at any time, a condition to which I can only agree, since neither I nor Captain Picard are being given any choice in the matter." She paused again, considering. "Computer, strike that last sentence from the entry, please." She waited for the beep of confirmation before continuing. "Starfleet has agreed to a month's leave for all crewmembers, on a rotating basis, with unlimited time being granted for...special cases." She paused. "End of entry," she said abruptly, turning away from the desk to contemplate the wall behind her chair. "Even the cases that don't think they need extra time," she muttered under her breath irritably.

Deanna Troi had not made a very good patient. She had insisted that she was fine, that there was no need for her to take medical leave at all, that there were no repercussions from the fact that she had been raped by her commanding officer--especially since he wasn't exactly himself at the time, in any sense of the word.

She kept insisting the same thing after the return of the pirates to their prison planet, in a calm and rational voice, until Crusher finally, reluctantly, released her friend from Sickbay and let her go back on duty.

The fact that the empathic Counselor couldn't set foot back on the bridge without flashing back to the incident with Asrun Narve made doing her job more than slightly difficult; the additional fact that she began to panic every time Picard was near her made it almost impossible. When she punched Will Riker after he came upon her unexpectedly in her office, Crusher put her foot down. "Dee, you're not a superwoman," she snapped angrily when Ogawa brought a shaking Deanna Troi to her office that morning. "I'm going to order you into therapy if you won't go of your own free will. And don't think I won't," she added threateningly. The fact that her friend only nodded meekly and took the tranquilizer Ogawa was offering didn't make Crusher feel any better; if Troi were anywhere near to being herself, she would have put up at least a token argument.

Picard wasn't any better. He'd agreed to accompany Troi to Betazed for counseling, but steadfastly refused to admit that it was for his own good as well as hers, refused to admit that the rape had affected him almost as deeply as the counselor. Refused, in fact, to admit that any of the events involving the pirates had affected him beyond the simple fact of their happening. Crusher supposed she should be grateful he was allowing himself any counseling at all, and hoped that whoever was assigned to their case on Betazed could force Picard to deal with things, instead of simply avoiding them.

The way, Crusher realized, he'd been avoiding her. He'd been doing it since he was released from the prison of his own mind, only he'd been doing it so skillfully she'd not really noticed. Not until Deanna was readmitted to Sickbay, awaiting transport to Betazed. She tried not to take it personally; he wasn't really making an effort to maintain contact with anyone. It was just his way of dealing with the trauma of what he'd been forced to do and watch. But no matter how much she told herself that, she still had a nagging feeling there was something more going on.

All in all, Crusher decided, she'd had enough. They all had. A week had passed, and now it was time to let the healing process begin. She refused to speculate further on Picard's motives and feelings until he returned from Betazed. She had every confidence that both he and Troi would, indeed, be returning to the ship. There were some others she had her doubts about. Keiko and Miles O'Brien sprang instantly to mind, and Crusher frowned. She had a feeling they might not return to the ship, or at least, Keiko might not. There was only so much a person could endure, and this might have hit the limits of Keiko's strength. And Miles loved his wife more than he loved being on the _Enterprise_; Crusher would place whatever anyone cared to wager on that one.

She stood up and stretched again. A hot shower was just what she needed right now; she'd done more than enough brooding on a situation that was effectively out of her control. She'd just look in on Dee and let Selar take charge; she could see her Vulcan second-in-command hovering outside her office. Not in an obvious way; she would have a perfectly logical reason for staying near Crusher's office for the past half hour. Which, coincidentally, was the exact amount of time Crusher had remained past her own shift.

She walked out of her office with a smile and wave for Selar, who merely nodded and waited with grave patience for her superior's approach. The Vulcan doctor stepped forward, listened with continued gravity to Crusher's last-minute instructions, then politely but firmly shooed the other woman toward the door. "Good night, Doctor," she said. "Counselor Troi is sleeping; I do not feel it would be conducive to her continued rest if you were to disturb her at this time. I shall inform you of any changes in her condition."

Crusher blinked as she suddenly found herself on the opposite side of the door, in the main corridor. Then she shook her head at herself. Selar didn't need her hanging around all night; it was time to give it a rest. All the details had been taken care of, from minor paperwork to major surgery. All she needed to do now was walk down the corridor, get in the turbolift, and return to her quarters. Tomorrow, shore leave would begin. Her footsteps, reluctant at first, quickened eagerly at that thought.

Tomorrow night she would be on Earth, with Wesley.

**oOo**

Selar looked up from the computer screen. She'd begun filing the remainder of the reports, in her usual efficient manner, when she felt eyes upon her back. She turned in exasperation, expecting to see Dr. Crusher behind her; the CMO had been working herself too hard, in Selar's opinion--based on a combination of logic and simple empirical evidence--and it would be just like her to "remember something she forgot to do" and come back to Sickbay.

It was Lieutenant Worf. He was standing uncomfortably in the doorway to Dr. Crusher's office. "Can I be of assistance?" Selar asked him in her usual formal manner, successfully masking her surprise at his presence.

The Klingon security officer cleared his throat uncomfortably, then squared his shoulders. "I came to apologize for my recent behavior in Ten-Forward," he said stiffly. "I made some...inappropriate remarks to you."

Selar raised an eyebrow and turned to regard the Security Chief as her fingers moved automatically to save the documents she had been filing. "It was not you who made the comments to which you are referring," she finally replied. "It was the being inhabiting your body. Logically, you have said nothing for which you need to apologize."

Worf shifted uncomfortably, looking up at the ceiling as if for guidance before returning his eyes to hers. "That is true," he conceded. "However, I still need to apologize because he pulled some of the things he said...from my mind." The Klingon's lips lifted in a slight snarl at the memory. He would rather kill himself than to ever again go through the utter humiliation of having his very thoughts invaded, his mind taken over and his body left as helpless as a puppet while he was forced to stand by and do nothing.

Selar smiled slightly, the most expression she ever allowed herself, even on a ship full of illogical, emotional Humans. "Again, no apologies are necessary. I hold nothing that the entity said to me against you. No matter what the source of those comments," she added drily.

Worf nodded with a grunt of understanding. The Vulcan doctor would not accept an apology she deemed unnecessary. Very well. He turned toward the door, then paused in the act of leaving. "Peris was incorrect in one thing; I am not attracted to you merely because you bear some slight physical resemblance to K'Ehylar."

With that intriguing comment, he was gone, and Selar felt her eyebrow climbing toward her straight black bangs, this time of its own accord. "Interesting," she murmured, then returned to her work with an imperceptible shrug. But she had a feeling that this conversation was far from finished.

Alyssa Ogawa noticed the tiny smile hovering over Dr. Selar's lips at the end of their duty shift, blinked, rubbed her eyes, then shook her head as she walked out the door. She was definitely overtired, to imagine that Selar was smiling for no reason. But then, it had been a long week. A _very_ long week.

**oOo**

Guinan looked around Ten-Forward. It was nearly deserted, and not merely due to the time of night. Three-quarters of the crew and their families were too busy preparing for shore leave--an entire, blessed month of relaxation or counseling, or some combination of both. It would be strange, with so few people left on the ship. Especially with both Captain Picard and Commander Riker gone at the same time. Unprecedented, in Guinan's opinion, but then, Data was hardly in need of recuperation, especially when he termed the entire, traumatic series of events, "interesting." He had certainly been agreeable to being left in charge of the ship while she was set on a month-long charting mission. A mission that was scheduled to end as soon as Captain Picard returned.

Guinan's faint smile turned to a frown. She knew the pain her friend was feeling now, pain he denied at every turn. She hoped the counselor on Betazed would be able to help him face those feelings--and, perhaps, others that helped cause the pain. Because Guinan knew that it wasn't only his imprisonment by Asrun Narve that was eating at his heart and soul, nor was it the things the pirate commander had used Picard's body to do to Deanna Troi while the captain was forced to watch, helpless to stop any of it. No, it was more than that, and Guinan sincerely hoped that the counselor on Betazed could help Picard face the one thing that he might not be so willing to acknowledge, the one thing that Narve had ruthlessly plundered from Picard's innermost thoughts.

His feelings for Beverly Crusher.

Those feelings had been painfully obvious to Guinan for some time now--in fact, ever since she came aboard the _Enterprise_. No matter how successfully he masked them to others--especially himself and the good doctor. And, surprisingly, Counselor Troi. Or maybe the counselor did know; she practiced being inscrutable enough that Guinan sometimes had a difficult time figuring her out. At any rate, if the Betazoid counselor knew anything, she certainly wasn't telling. Which, Guinan decided, was probably wisest. It was the reason she herself had said nothing, preferring to let nature take its course.

The smile returned as Guinan picked up a cloth and began methodically wiping down the bar, wiping away as well her momentary lapse into speculation as she returned her thoughts to more practical matters. It would be safe to close down a little early tonight; she'd already dismissed her staff, assuring them for the millionth time that they were _not_ deserting her, that she had no desire to take shore leave and would be perfectly capable of running the bar until they returned. Fortunately, they _wanted_ to be convinced, and gave her much less trouble than they might have otherwise.

Once they were gone, Guinan decided with an impish grin, she could indulge herself in a month-long game of wondering how things were going to be when everyone returned.

Especially between a certain captain and doctor.

**oOo**

Ensign Ro Laren threw the last of her belongings into her overnight bag. She didn't need a lot--a uniform, a few changes of clothing, the usual necessities. Then she sat on the edge of her bunk and stared around her quarters. "Well, that was easy; what next?" she muttered to herself. Technically she was off-duty, but shore leave didn't officially commence until 0700 hours, ship's time, and it was only 2230 hours now.

Initially, she'd dreaded the thought of a month's time to herself, not only because she had nowhere to go and no one to go with, but also because time away from work was generally time spent brooding on her stint in a Starfleet stockade. She couldn't even talk to Counselor Troi about her fit of nerves, since the Counselor had been placed off-duty since that little incident with Commander Riker. Which left Ro uneasy with no one to talk to.

No one except Guinan. Who listened very sympathetically, made some casual remarks about her own lack of a place to go to when she had time off and her extra enjoyment of that time since she knew she could go anywhere she wanted to without worrying about hurting someone's feelings or juggling schedules. Suddenly, being free to do as she wanted for an entire month seemed much more attractive to Ro; she confessed that she'd always wanted to visit the Mars Colony. Which, of course, Guinan said was a lovely place to visit. The next thing she knew, Ro found herself booking passage and making hotel arrangements. And looking forward with impatience to the very thing she had dreaded only a short time before.

All thanks to Guinan, who had, in the final analysis, offered very little advice. Just listened in her quiet way while Ro spoke and agreed with her.

Which led in turn to Ro's current state of impatience. She glanced at the wall chrono. Five minutes had passed while she was lost in her thoughts, and she found herself too restless to sleep. No, too excited to sleep, she corrected herself ruefully. Excited in a way she barely remembered from childhood, when an event such as her birthday was approaching. Not wanting to wait for it to come, but not wanting it to pass so quickly she missed it.

"Ro Laren, you are being ridiculous," she told herself as she rose abruptly to her feet and marched over to her dresser. She pulled out a nightshift and slipped into it, then slid beneath the covers. She reached over and dimmed the lights, closing her eyes determinedly. The morning would come that much faster if she went to sleep now.

The morning, and her shore leave.


	10. Epilogue: One Month Later

**One Month Later**

Crusher frowned as she stepped out of her uniform, tossed it into the cleaning chute, and headed slowly for the shower. It was the end of her first day back on duty, and something had been nagging at her all day. It had taken until now to figure out what it was, and that had happened only after she'd established what it wasn't.

It wasn't, for example, Miles and Keiko O'Brien. As she'd feared, they wouldn't be returning to the _Enterprise_ once the long-term shore leave they had requested was up. Instead, Miles had accepted the next best thing to a planetside posting; he'd be taking over as Chief of Ops on the new station orbiting Bajor, Deep Space Nine. Crusher would miss them, but she wished them well and hoped it was everything they expected.

It wasn't even the fact that the O'Briens weren't the only ones not returning to the ship. Not everyone was able to deal with what had happened; at least three crewmembers had requested planetside postings, and four spouses had informed the captain that they wouldn't set foot on the _Enterprise_--or any other starship--again. And although that was regrettable, it still wasn't what was bothering the doctor.

Nor was it Deanna Troi or Will Riker, both of whom had, fortunately, returned to the ship. Troi had unexpectedly asked Riker to join her on Betazed after her initial counseling sessions were finished, and he had just as unexpectedly agreed. Or maybe not so unexpectedly, Crusher mused as she tested the water. For all that their relationship defied categorization, at least in her mind, they still had a solid friendship and a long history together. From the messages her friends had sent to Earth, things seemed to be working out. Troi had told Crusher that Riker had arrived shortly before Jean-Luc Picard left to spend the remainder of his leave on Earth. She wouldn't say anything about the captain's participation in Troi's rehabilitation therapy--nor did Crusher expect or want her to--only that he had helped her to work things out, and that she had managed to get past the trauma of being an unwilling participant in a rape. Of _both_ of them being unwilling participants in a rape.

Crusher's frown returned as she stepped into the shower. _That_ was what was bothering her. Jean-Luc Picard.

He was still avoiding her. That hadn't changed, and she realized that she'd expected it to. She'd expected things to return completely to normal, at least between the two of them, once therapy and shore leave were over. But that wasn't how it was working out. Oh, he hadn't been avoiding her in obvious ways, not so a person could put their finger on it. He'd simply been too busy to so much as speak to her in anything other than an official capacity. The few times they _did_ speak, Crusher had the distinct feeling he was embarrassed, if not downright ashamed of something. Now she found herself wondering what might be causing that reaction; the fact that Narve had picked her as his personal "prize"? But Jean-Luc seemed to have no problems dealing with Deanna Troi, from what she could tell, and that had been the more traumatic of the things Picard had been forced to witness his own body doing. All that had been done to the doctor, if she thought about it, was to be back-handed, leered at and chained in a closet.

Crusher couldn't help it; she burst into laughter at the direction in which her thoughts had turned. "I sound like the heroine of an old-fashioned romance novel," she said, blowing her reflection in the mirror a kiss. "Call me Beverly, 'The Captive Doctor'." Still laughing, she dried herself off, her good humor restored as she was finally able to put things in perspective--something her own counselor had told her to expect.

Once her initial amusement faded, her mind returned to the problem of Jean-Luc Picard. Why was he avoiding her? "Beverly, you're just being paranoid," she said to herself as she shrugged into her deep green robe and tossed the still-damp towel in the general direction of the laundry chute. "It's probably nothing more than the fact that he still thinks he failed us, somehow." She poured herself a glass of wine and settled in on her sofa. She'd only been back a day, after all. If he continued to avoid her, she'd confront him. And maybe confront him about a few other things as well..."Music, please," she said aloud, addressing the computer. "A little Vivaldi would be nice--the Four Seasons." _Time to relax, Beverly,_ she chided herself. _You shouldn't be worrying about something that may very well turn out to be nothing. Not your first day back after shore leave, anyway._

The door chimed. Crusher jumped a little, but only a little, and answered it. Her frown at being interrupted from her evening of doing nothing disappeared when Jean-Luc Picard hesitantly entered the room.

When he saw how she was dressed, he backed up a step. "I'm sorry, Doctor," he apologized. "I didn't realize--that is, I was not aware that you were preparing for bed. I'll come back some other time." He turned to go.

"I'm not going to bed," Crusher called out to him reassuringly. "I just took a shower and was feeling lazy. Would you like a glass of wine? Some tea, maybe?" So much for confronting him; apparently he was ready to confront her. So much the better.

Picard turned back, fully entering the room, and nodded. "A cup of tea would be lovely." He moved to the replicator.

Crusher tucked her feet up beneath her demurely, sipping her wine and eyeing him over the rim of the glass as he ordered "Earl Grey, hot". He was nervous, she realized, continuing to watch as he took the chair opposite her and sipped his tea. Intriguing.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, while Picard very obviously collected his thoughts. Crusher had never seen him so unnerved before--at least, not since the oh-so-interesting Vash had appeared on board. She debated as to whether or not she should point that out to him, then decided not to. _He would probably bolt like a frightened rabbit,_ she thought with amusement, then composed herself and waited for him to say whatever it was he had come here to say.

When tea could no longer be used as an excuse to avoid conversation, he spoke. "Beverly," he began, then stopped.

"Yes?" she asked when he seemed to require prompting in order to continue.

Picard cleared his throat. "I came here tonight for two reasons: to thank you for everything you did during our recent crisis, and to apologize." He held up a hand at her protesting expression. "Please, allow me to finish." She nodded, but the questioning look remained on her face. "I've put in your name for a commendation for the way you took charge and kept the situation from deteriorating into a complete disaster. I've recommended several other people for them as well; Ensign Ro, Dr. Selar, and Guinan."

Crusher smiled, but it was a serious smile. All traces of frivolity had vanished when Picard began speaking; he was obviously working up to something, and she suddenly had no desire to heckle him. "I know all this, Jean-Luc," she replied, deliberately using his first name. "Surely that isn't what you came here to tell me. What's this about an apology?"

"I want to apologize for avoiding you," was his frank response. Crusher blinked in surprise, not expecting so blunt an admission, but held her comments as he continued, "I've been doing a great deal of thinking lately, especially about the fact that it's my fault you were 'selected' by Narve."

"Your fault?" Crusher placed her wine glass on the table and stared at the captain. "How on earth could it be your fault?"

Picard looked down at his hands, then back up into her eyes. "Because, Beverly," he answered softly, his eyes never leaving hers, "if he hadn't read my true feelings for you, he never would have singled you out to receive his 'attention.'"

Crusher leaned forward in her own seat. "What feelings would those be, Jean-Luc?" she asked in the same quiet tone. My, my, wasn't _this_ an interesting development, some small voice commented in the back of her mind. She ignored it, concentrating on the man sitting before her.

"Must I spell them out?" he asked, then held up a hand. "Don't answer that, it was a foolish question." He stood up and turned toward the door, hands clasped behind his back. "Narve selected you because he knew how much it would pain me to see...someone I cared for abused in such a fashion."

"Someone you cared for?" Crusher repeated questioningly, her mind whirling. "Is that who I am? Someone you care for?"

Picard nodded, still unable to turn and face her. "Someone I only now am realizing how much I care for," he said, his voice tender. "I hadn't intended to say anything to you, but somehow..." His voice trailed off in embarrassment. "Somehow," he continued after a moment, "I couldn't just come back and allow things to remain the way they were." Never mind that the counselor had recommended just such a thing, once she finally ferreted out the root of the captain's residual guilt. "I needed to let you know how I feel, how I've been feeling and denying that I feel." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I wanted to tell you that, no matter how you may feel about me, I love you. And have for quite some time."

The statement hung in the air between them for long seconds, while Crusher absorbed all its implications and examined her own emotions. Then she rose from her seat, walked silently to stand behind him, and put one hand on his shoulder. He turned, seeing her own emotions clearly reflected in her eyes, and hesitantly leaned over to kiss her.

"Just for the record," Crusher whispered after a moment, "I love you too. In case you weren't sure." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "You weren't the only one denying how you felt; I've had...very strong feelings for you almost since I first came aboard the _Enterprise_. I convinced myself that I couldn't tell you because it would ruin our friendship, that you couldn't possibly return my feelings. I might never have said anything if you hadn't come to me first." She smiled impishly. "Maybe our little encounter with the League of Uxmal Pirates wasn't all bad." She held her breath at her own audacity; how well he took that statement would let her know how well he'd recovered.

"Perhaps," Picard murmured before bending his head and pressing his lips to hers. "I do know this much: I have no intention of allowing you to back away from this relationship, any more than _I_ intend to. I think we've both done enough of that."

"Indeed," was all the reply Crusher made before ordering the lights dimmed and the door locked. She had no intention of being interrupted by anyone else tonight.

Nor, if she had her way, any other night.

_Author's Note: Well, there it is, in all it's glory. Shall I post the sequel? It will go a little slower as I have lost the electronic files and will be reentering the durn thing manually. But it's worth it if you all tell me you want to see it! Thanks for reading._


End file.
